France is in the midst of two public outcries. The first is in response to the 300 per cent rise in taxes on palm oil, which happens to be the second main ingredient in the country’s favourite breakfast spread Nutella. The second is the front cover of the latest edition of The Economist; a bunch of baguettes bound together like dynamite accompanying its 16-page special on why France is a crisis waiting to happen.

Having just returned from nine months living in Paris I’d like to defend the country that taught me that Nutella on a baguette is a perfectly acceptably breakfast for adults. The French arrogantly think that theirs is the best nation on earth and they’re right. France is perfect the way it is.

Yes government spending makes up a ridiculous 57 per cent of GDP and France’s share of global exports has dropped faster than any European country other than Greece. Yes, France’s economic model of more government borrowing to fund higher welfare payments to fund more household spending is broken.

But what’s missed in The Economist’s analysis is that if you have confidence in yourself, you’re four-fifths there. And no one does self-confidence better than the French. How else to explain their insistence that theirs is a secular state, yet the national holidays are almost entirely built around the Catholic calendar? Or how else to explain the outcry over the treatment of animals butchered for halal meat, yet no one sees a problem with shoving sticks down geese’s necks to make foie gras?

You can’t reduce a place to a spreadsheet. As proof, let’s consider The Economist’s naming of my home town of Melbourne, twice in a row, as the world’s most liveable city. The Economist’s methodology of measuring “relative comfort for over 30 qualitative and quantitative factors across five broad categories" spat out a near perfect 97.5 for Melbourne. It’s also been spat at by Economist readers.

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“I just moved to Melbourne, and it is clear to me that no one at The Economist ever visited here," writes a certain jgrosh on The Economist’s website. “It is stupidly expensive . . . and good portions of the city are nothing but industrial wasteland. I have never seen a more disgusting display of gritty urban shit sprawl."

Now when it comes to defending Melbourne against Sydney I will fight to the death. But put Melbourne on a world stage and I think Mr or Ms jgrosh has a point. I wonder what would happen if we worked backwards through The Economist’s 30 qualitative and quantitative factors, assigning perfect scores for “low crime levels, functioning infrastructure and easily available recreational activities" and then finding the environment that matched. The most liveable place on earth would likely be a free range pig farm; no crime, good infrastructure and plenty of recreational activities close to hand, or trotter. But lacking a certain something.

Give me France. With its charming 18th century architecture that matches its 18th century banking system where I was obliged, each time I had to do something at a counter, to return to the branch where I opened my account and see the exact same woman who opened it for me. Give me France, whose bureaucrats told me I couldn’t get my residency card until I had my press card, but I couldn’t get a press card until I could prove my residency. And give me Paris, with its sneering taxi drivers who make you feel like you’re putting them out by asking them to drive you somewhere.

When France explodes into a crisis, there is nowhere in the world I’d rather be. Because the French will bring to their crisis a sense of style that will make every other financial crisis seem tatty. French uni students will rip up cobble stones from the streets and smash the windows of Peugeot-police cars, prompting the government to fund the opening of a new Peugeot factory to build more police cars and provide manufacturing jobs for unemployed students. The French will do their financial crisis so beautifully that we’ll be wanting a financial crisis of our own.

But just note that I’ll need access to press conferences but I’m still waiting on that press card. Hey France, it’s now been seven months since I applied. Do you think you could post it in the mail?